


If You Don't Mind the Scars (Remix)

by PjCole



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Ambiguous Relationships, Civil War Fix-It, Cooking, Fix-It, Friends With Benefits, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sort Of, They aint good at talking but they get better at it, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-08 01:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17376647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PjCole/pseuds/PjCole
Summary: It’s been going on for years now, since the first few weeks all of the original group were crashing in the tower. The first time was fast and rushing in its rhythm, something born of mutual frustration and too many sleepless nights. They never talked about it, still never really talk about it in more than abstract terms and innuendo. Whenever Tony is on the outs with Pepper and Steve is especially frustrated, or lonely, or some other goddamn reason Tony still can’t seem to pin down, they’ll lend each other their bodies.At least, that’s how it was in the beginning, some warmth between not really friends. Now though, now it feels like this fragile silent thing neither of them can let go. Their nights are longer and more frequent, the morning afters more languid and still they never outright say whether it matters or not. Tony half thinks Steve is punishing him and half thinks he is punishing himself. Its tortuous and beautiful and something Tony spends more time drinking about than not. He can’t stop it and can’t get the ‘more more more!’ that some possessive monster in his chest screams for every time Steve leaves before breakfast.





	If You Don't Mind the Scars (Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tra Voi, Tra Voi (The Getting Together Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17345015) by [haemodye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haemodye/pseuds/haemodye). 



> Some of the MCU timeline was adjusted and I mostly based the dates on the time the movies were released instead of the ever changing official timeline. Somewhat cannon compliant up until Civil War.

By the way there, Mr. Tin Man  
If you don't mind the scars  
You give me your armor  
And you can have my heart  
–– Miranda Lambert

_November 3rd, 2016_

The suit lurches to the right when the wind spirals too quickly for it to remain balanced and Tony curses loud and long. The visibility is decreasing every second and even this latest upgrade is having trouble remaining airborne. Still he pushes on, clenches his arms and legs in tandem with the rocking winds and scans down every reading desperately hoping for some kind of heat signature. 

“God damn it, Cap!” He yells into the sky, knowing full well the snow will swallow any sounds before it makes it to the ground below. It’s already piling ever higher, any remains of a motorcycle will be completely gone by the end of the hour. 

Nothing in the scan gives him any reason to keep hoping, but he can’t turn back now. No matter how the chilled air seems to seep in all around him, no matter how the dark expanse of the night and storm blur the world, no matter how much he hates himself for even being here, he can not turn back now. Turns out Tony didn’t need to send the guy a burner phone to promise he would come in his time of need. Everyone knew he would, no one was even surprised when Tony bursted into that dilapidated safe house in eastern ukraine and demanded the runaway captain’s last known location. 

“If you are dead, I’m gonna kill you.” He hisses into the unforgiving storm.

* * *

_January 30th, 2016_

“You’re gonna rot your gut straight through one of these days, Stark.” Steve calls from the entryway and it’s like a string is pulled taught in Tony’s forehead with how quickly he snaps up his gaze. He tries to save face by hiding his surprise in a long swallow of his scotch, but by the furrow in Steve’s brow it seems waisted. 

“What is it you need, Cap?” He asks with a forced easy smile, letting his eyes wander down the planes of Steve’s chest and abs. He’s in casual wear, a rarity these days, and Tony intends to take in his fill. 

“Sam and Vision are back. The wings took a few good hits too many, thought you could give ‘em a look.” Steve is still looking at him with that wary frown that seems to have etched itself into the very cells of his face since Tony started spending more time at the compound. 

“Sam’s always breaking my stuff. What’s he done now?” Tony sighs deeply, making a dramatic show of finishing off his glass and ambling to his feet. His hands shake, just the slightest amount, as he moves to unhitch the gauntlet and partial arm he’d been fiddling with while watching Cupcake Wars. 

“Left wing won’t pull more than halfway out of the casing, but he sounded like that’s only one of the minor issues.” Steve leans away from the doorway as he speaks, but doesn’t move from the neutral zone between the hall and communal living room. He glances down and away before rubbing at the back of his neck. “To be honest, I don’t know half of what those things can do. Can you just go and make sure they don’t start taking them apart on the kitchen island?”

“I would if I could get this damn thing off,” Tony mutters to himself, as he manages to rehook the latch he’d released only moments ago. He tenses when Steve starts to approach, glancing over at the half empty bottle next to his portable tool set. “I…I was trying to lay off a bit, today.” 

Something too kind to be pity flashes in Steve’s eyes, but Tony can’t place it before it’s gone. Instead he smiles, brushes Tony’s fingers away and slides his own hand over the catches. His breath is warm on the side of Tony’s face, his chest solid where it presses slightly into Tony’s shoulder. The proximity ignites that pool of heat low in Tony’s belly that seems to always simmer in silence, waiting for Steve to set it off. 

“There,” His voice is soft and the breath is softer, fanning over the side of Tony’s face. If he shifted his weight and looked up just a bit they would be nose to nose, or more accurately nose to neck. “I’m sure you can get the rest, yeah?”

Tony nods, yanking off the metal glove and resolutely ignoring the shiver when his arm brushes along Steve’s abs.

“Come out with me later,” Steve says suddenly and Tony finally gives in and locks their eyes. His smile is light, maybe not even forced. “I’ve got a craving for a good burger.”

“You always want to go to that same run down joint, Cap.” Tony replies with an easy grin of his own, something under his skin buzzing.

“Well,” Steve starts, smirking when Tony swallows at the suddenly deeper tone of his voice. “if you’re gonna be like that about it-”

“I go for the company,” Tony cuts in, turning briskly to set the gauntlet down in its casing on the coffee table. It hits him that maybe he admitted a bit too much there, so he hastens to add, “no one else in this suped up bomb shelter will play me at chess anymore. Too many hurt feelings.” 

“Shame,”Steve says and something in his eyes lets Tony know he can smell the cover up. “You’ve got such a nice set.” 

It’s clear they both know what Steve is really talking about, what he’s likely been talking about since the start of this conversation. It’s been going on for years now, since the first few weeks all of the original group were crashing in the tower. The first time was fast and rushing in its rhythm, something born of mutual frustration and too many sleepless nights. They never talked about it, still never really talk about it in more than abstract terms and innuendo. Whenever Tony is on the outs with Pepper and Steve is especially frustrated, or lonely, or some other goddamn reason Tony still can’t seem to pin down, they’ll lend each other their bodies. At least, that’s how it was in the beginning, some warmth between not really friends. Now though, now it feels like this fragile silent thing neither of them can let go. Their nights are longer and more frequent, the morning afters more languid and still they never outright say whether it matters or not. Tony half thinks Steve is punishing him and half thinks he is punishing himself. Its tortuous and beautiful and something Tony spends more time drinking about than not. He can’t stop it and can’t get the ‘more more more!’ that some possessive monster in his chest screams for everytime Steve leaves before breakfast. 

The silence is stretching around them and Tony watches as Steve closes into himself, shutters like he does when he sees the bottle Tony’s taken to keeping at his bedside table. For a second Tony wants to let it happen, wants Steve to scowl and get angry and maybe voice some sort of fucking opinion about what they’ve been doing to each other. The second ticks away though and Tony grins, open as he can these days and taps his knuckles against Steve’s sternum.“That why it’s living in your rooms lately?” 

Steve’s answering smile is part bashful, part mischief and all stunningly beautiful and Tony just wants to bask. He wants to stand here in the common living room and shiver as Steve hooks a finger through his belt loop, wants to tilt forward and brush their chests together, wants to kiss him here in the bright daylight where anyone could find them. 

Instead he rasps his knuckles on that solid chest one more time and takes a step back, turns to pick up the gauntlet case. 

“Be a good man and drop this down in my shop would you, Cap? You still know the code, don’t you?” He says and tosses the case to Steve, not bothering to watch if he caught it before moving towards the doorway. 

“I don’t feel like a very good man,” Tony hears faintly from behind him and closes his eyes in sudden frustration. These little half nods at their situation are getting old and Tony has half a mind to turn around and scream into that perfect stupid face to let it go already. Steve made it clear what they were, made it clear they wouldn’t tell anyone or fucking say it outloud to each other. 

“Don’t start a fight you can’t finish,” Tony says instead of opening the bottle he snatched up before retreating. “Or didn’t they teach you that in the army?” 

Steve doesn’t say anything and Tony leaves the room. The glass bottle is heavy in his hand, harsh where it knocks against his thigh. Giving into temptation, he lifts it up as he reaches the stairway and opens it for a swig. “Bevilo tutto, bevilo tutto” He sings to himself, smile empty, “che buon prò ti possa fare.”

* * *

_November 3rd, 2016_

“I can’t leave him out there,” Tony curses to the empty room around him. The building is cut open in one corner and mostly falling apart in the others, but it gives a reprieve from the biting winds. There is no answer to his outburst, but the silence is neither judgemental or encouraging, so he just mutters to himself, “I can do this.” 

The storm is getting worse every minute and the little feathered thing in Tony’s chest is dying with every empty patch of land he scans. 

“I won’t leave him out there.” He says firmly, to himself and to the gauntlet he just slammed into the crumbling wall beside him. Nothing on earth is going to stop him from getting Steve out of here. The ice can’t have him a second time. 

It takes a few measured breaths, but he calms and pulls up the map of the area in his HUD. “Okay. If Steve had made it to one of these buildings in the past two days, he’d of gotten a message to Wilson by now.”

“Seems reasonable,” FRIDAY responds, finally. Tony ignores it. 

“Which means he’s got to be somewhere between here and the outer ridge line, in the inner valley. Maybe he’d been hiding out, laying low after the warehouse went on alert.” The map shrinks down, but not enough to actually be useful. 

“That’s roughly thirty acres of wilderness you’re aiming to search, Boss,” FRIDAY adds and Tony would punch her if he could, would punch every thing around him if it would somehow make Steve alright. He shouldn’t still care this much, but that is a regret he had long before Siberia. By now it seems fair to say Steve will always be the ache in his chest, will never ever let the stupid feathered hope in his chest die out completely. 

“I’ve got to look. He doesn’t have his shield. If he’s hurt... There’s no way for the man to navigate in this storm. He’ll die out there.” The last sentence cuts, feels chewed raw in his mouth, all glass shards and spikes. He turns to the cutout in the corner, charges up the boots. 

“Sounds like we’d better start out then.” 

“Sounds like it.”

* * *

_December 24th, 2014_

“Stark?” Tony looks up from examining his still full glass of scotch, his sixth of the night, and sees Steve leaning against the bar next to him. Damn does he look good, pale skin off set by the low red lights in this section of the party. It contrasts perfectly with his rich green dress shirt and grey slacks. He looks like the cover of some risque and vaguely holiday themed calendar. Tony can’t decide if its made better or worse by the fact that he knows exactly how that partially exposed collarbone tastes. 

“Captain.” He grins brightly to pull himself out of those thoughts. It’s been months since their last encounter and Tony is pretty sure they’ve both moved on. Or at least tried, if the lack of Pepper in the state of New York says anything about Tony’s personal failure on that front. 

“Not one for the holiday spirit?” Steve asks without taking a seat, his smile friendly and possibly even fond. It tickles the back of Tony’s throat. 

“I recall something about water into wine, wine into blood or something. Am I wrong?” Tony gets a snort for that and can’t help but laugh a bit himself. The full glass gives him something to fiddle with, a nice little temptation to torture himself with instead of the bow of Steve’s top lip. 

“If that’s wine I’ll eat my hat.” The perfect arch of Steve’s raised eyebrow really isn’t helping matters, so Tony spins in his stool and takes a sniff of his drink as he looks out on the crowd filling the large open floor. He knows now is a good time to stop, right before he tips into fully sloshed, but its smooth flavor calls out just beneath the beat of the music all around him. 

“You don’t even wear a hat, Cap.” He shakes his head and really considers finally giving into the call of the scotch. His thumb spasms a bit on the lip of the glass and he turns to Steve, tilting it a bit towards him. “Care to find out?” 

Steve looks at him, some sadness pulling down on his face the longer he examines Tony’s offer. Before the tension builds to a point where Tony will have no choice but to chug the entire thing just to fill the silence, Steve stands up from the bar. In one smooth movement he takes the glass, sets it back behind him and pulls Tony to standing. 

“Alright, Stark, that’s it. Come on.” A heavy, but blissfully warm arm drapes itself over Tony’s shoulders and starts to direct him away from the bar.

“Where are we going?” Tony asks with a laugh, letting himself settle into Steve’s side. They fit so smoothly, latching together like pieces of his armor, designed precisely to walk like this. It hurts somewhere deep and broken, but Tony can’t help but think it every time they press together; can’t help but remember how perfectly whole he felt with Steve inside him. 

“It is Christmas Eve, Stark. You can’t spend the night drinking alone.” Steve replies, walking them further into the swath of socialites Tony really wishes he didn’t know. 

“Well,” Swaying a bit from both the liquor and Steve’s sent, Tony attempts to gesture wide to the room around them but mostly just presses his face into Steve’s shoulder. “The drinks are still pouring. The people still partying. The show must march on.”

“Look again,” Steve says, though he doesn’t adjust his hold to allow any room for Tony to follow the instruction. They just keep walking, Steve tall and beautiful and Tony plastered to him like some overly manicured parasite. “Everyone is here with friends, to celebrate the holiday together in a bit of sensible and good-natured fun. You are getting sloshed all on your lonesome.”

It stings, though Steve surely means nothing by it and Tony lets his weight fall more to his right and away from the furnace of their embrace. He pulls himself up a little taller, calling on all the years where this level of intoxication only meant he was ready to leave the pre-party.

“And you’re gonna rectify that, being the good team captain and all?” It comes out a little biting, but Tony thinks they both need that, a little sting before they can make the same mistakes again. His voice gets a little bit louder and he lets his arm drop from where it had settled on Steve’s waist. “Can’t have a old drunk billionaire ruining this sacred day!”

“Hush,” Steve says, but his voice is calm, his arm still nestled behind Tony’s neck. 

“I can’t imagine Captain America had anything less than a hundred offers to spend his Christmas at a warm fire with a nice ‘dame’ or two,” He keeps his voice sharp, tries harder than he has on anything since Extremus, since SHEILD fell, to keep his body from depending on Steve to stand. They’ve made it to the private elevators now, the ones that will take them up to the Avengers only floors. “Gonna tuck me in for the night and go find that new bird friend of yours for a game of mario kart?”

That seems to finally get to Steve’s impossibly easy composure and he lets Tony go to stab at the biometric keypad with this thumb. The doors open immediately and they step inside before Steve speaks again, voice tight but not loud, not even really angry. “First off, I know for a fact Tasha invited you for a round of it yourself.” He turns to look at Tony head on then and Tony gets that the tightness is from sadness, resignation. 

_Couldn’t just let us fall into some kind of friendship_ ,Tony thinks with years of self _loathing, had to push and poke because Steve decided this time me being single wasn’t enough of a reason to fuck me up against the workshop door._

Steve looks away again, rubs a hand down over his face. “The whole team moved back in at your insistence and you’re down here ignoring all of us.”

“I’m just the guy who pays for the food and toys that go boom. I didn’t move you all in to play happy family.” Tony can’t help but reply. The damage is already done, there is no reason to try and salvage something that was too good for him to begin with. 

“I’m one of those people you are ignoring, too!” Steve finally shouts and whirls on Tony with a fire that usually means Tony will be on his knees before the minute is up. It sparks a harsh shiver and Tony swallows deeply, eyes caught on Steve’s like they have their own gravity and he is just cursed to forever orbit them. Something in Tony’s expression draws Steve up short and he deflates just as quickly as he’d ignited. Tony tries not to be disappointed when Steve closes his eyes and looks away. “Do you really think I’d let you wallow on Christmas Eve? I should like to think you know me better than that by now.”

“It’s no better than I deserve.” Tony admits, leaning back into the elevator wall. His whole body feels too heavy to keep up anymore and he just wants to be back leaning into Steve’s side; just wants to curl into him for a while.

“Tony,” Steve whispears and it is cruel, so fucking cruel of him to use his name like they mean something again. It hangs there in the air, almost like the invitation it had become back when they were some kind of regular thing. Tony can’t bring himself to look up, even when Steve sighs and settles to rest against the wall beside him. “I wish you wouldn’t push us away like this.” 

“Cap,” Tony starts, but Steve nearly jerks at the nickname, turning away from Tony like it physically burned him. They both know he is done with having Tony like that, both know there wasn’t an offer to accept or deny. “Aw, hell, don’t be like that, Steve.”

Using his name doesn’t really help, but by the time the elevator opens on the private party being held on the common floor the tension doesn’t feel so sharp. It almost doesn’t feel forced when Steve settles over his shoulders again and pulls him out. 

“We’re going to go eat some of that fancy food you payed for,” Steve tells him, friendly tone laid on a little too thick, but still nice enough. “And then, maybe, if you’re good, we can play a few games on that big screen upstairs.” 

“If you say so,” Tony agrees and lets himself believe it means something more, lets himself think Steve is holding him close on purpose.

“I do.” A few of the others are milling about in front of the TV in the living room, but beyond waving at them no one says anything as they move into the kitchen. Steve lets him go to open the fridge and it feels so viscerally unfair that Tony blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. 

“This is your first Christmas since Barnes,” And yes, this is why he really should be put in a mussel. Steve’s whole body is a study in tension and Tony wants to leave, wants to flee back downstairs to his perfect lot of not quite strangers and drink until someone takes pity on him and blows him in the bathroom. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“You’re right,” Steve tells the now closed fridge door, his hand threatening to bend the handle. It takes a moment, long and stretching, but Steve turns back to stare him down. The sadness is back along with some impossibly deep something that pulls Tony right back into perpetual orbit. “Can’t fault me for wanting to spend the holiday taking care of the best friend I actually know where to find.”

“Oh,” It’s inadequate, so horribly inadequate. Yet, Tony is absolutely certain there is no word for just how much he hates being called Steve’s best friend, how much he rejoices in even getting to matter that much to this wonderful man. It is closing into his throat, threatening to choke him with its non-existence and Tony tries to deflect, tries to shoot a blast strong enough to knock himself free of Steve’s gravity once and for all. “I don’t know who we should feel more sorry for, then, Cap. The team drunk, or the good captain who’s only got the team drunk to tell his sorrows to?” 

But Steve doesn’t take the bait, doesn’t so much as flinch, just keeps gazing at Tony like he is something of importance. It makes sense, because before all else Steve is stubborn. He is Tony’s immovable object and for all the years Tony believed himself an unstoppable force, they managed to answer that age old question. The object wins, the object wins everytime. 

“Sorry. That was…I’m a bit wasted.” Tony admits when staring into those baby blues gets to be a bit too much. 

“Real surprising,” Fondness leaks through the statement and the warmth of it calms the buzzing in Tony’s bones. He already feels splayed open, already feels like Steve has looked into the very core of him. 

“My parents died this time of year. In a car crash, sure you’ve read the file.” It feels right to say it outloud to Steve. Feels right to chop off another piece of his heart and give it away. Somehow it even feels right that Steve would recoil at the reveal, that he would grimace and look away like this is finally the too much Tony always knew he would be for anyone. “I’ve been…trying. You know I’ve been trying?” He asks, one last desperate grap to pull them back into something better than where they are now. 

“Since Buck disappeared again...” Steve starts, but the wind falls out of his sails and he gives up before getting much of anywhere. Instead he leans back into the fridge, rubs both hands over his eyes and stares into the ceiling like he wants something to crash through it. Tony wants to tell him it’s alright, wants to tell him he knows exactly how much Barnes’ little ‘now you see me, now you don’t’ act is killing him. Nothing comes out of his mouth though, the possessive monster in his chest wont let him concede anything to the man that took Steve. No matter how much Steve never really belong to him. The warmth he left in Tony’s bed has long gone stale, but Tony still only sleeps on one side. 

They are standing here in this kitchen, face to face but not eye to eye and Steve feels like he is across the country, across the damn universe. From far away he speaks. “I…I did know that.” When Tony simply continues to look at the blue chip clip magnet a few inches from Steve’s right ear, he clarifies. “About your parents.”

He doesn’t want to, but his eyes flicker from one magnet to the other and lock into Steve’s. There seems to be something else, some words Steve wants to unload into the empty room around them. That’s where they always end up though, Tony waiting and Steve keeping everything unspoken. When Steve lets out a sigh Tony isn’t surprised and graciously lets Steve look away. He never mattered enough to say it outloud, just some dirty little secret Steve keeps from himself. He long ago accepted that. 

“It’s a hard holiday for the lonely.” Steve admits and it may not be the right secret, but it feels like a confession all the same. Without hesitation, Tony softens, lets out all his tension in a breath and resolves to be whatever Steve needs. 

“I’ll sober up a bit with some food in me,” Tony smiles, genuine like nothing else in his life. He steps closer, lets his knuckles brush against Steve’s sternum, knocks once. “And then we can play a game.”

* * *

_November 3rd, 2016_

“Damn fool,” Tony yells into the void of the snow filled valley. Nothing, absolutely nothing for the last thirty minutes and they are closing in on the final five acres. “Rogers, you fucking shit head, get up and answer me!” He demands, flicking the outer speaker to full volume because even if Steve is dead he needs to hear this. 

Hope is dying out now and all he can think is maybe Steve got captured, maybe he isn’t even out here but is being tortured at some undisclosed location. Someplace warm. It really shouldn’t be a comfort, but at least that reality has a still living Steve in it. 

One more acre comes up empty when the sensors flash, and Tony’s eyes lock onto the faint red and yellow blur.

“Is that a live body, FRIDAY?” Tony all but screams, rocketing faster toward it, watching as the form wiggles and shapes into something with four limbs. The core temperature is low, but not quite hypothermia yet. “Narrow in on the signature!”

The order is useless at this point though, because Tony can make out a darker shape breaking out between the swaths of white. He lands heavy, sinking deep into the snow pack and loosing his balance at impact. Nothing matters though, nothing, because those are Steve’s boots. 

“Cap!” He screams and trudges forward, blasting the snow out of his way. “Answer me, damn it!” The HUD is spitting readouts of a lowered heartbeat and shallow breaths and Tony wants to start sobbing in relief. Somehow he keeps it together long enough to fall to his knees at Steve’s side and start digging him out. 

“Jesus Fuck,” He mutters when he clears out the ice that formed over Steve’s face and sees the blue of that perfect upper lip. Any other man would be frozen by now and Tony needs to take Steve somewhere tropical like yesterday. Needs to stop thinking about how panicked Steve must have been as the cold started to settle into his skin. 

When Tony gets him upright he lets the repulsors flicker on just a bit and runs them just over of Steve’s skin, thawing the ice and warming it in slow bursts. They’ll need to fly back to the one unruined building back where Tony stopped earlier and Steve needs to be warmed before Tony can take him through this storm. 

“Stark,” A faint voice says and Tony feels the thread in his forehead pull taught like it always does. The blue of those eyes make his lips wobble and he opens the face plate without hesitation. 

“The one and only,” He answers, ignoring the way the air bites into his face, how his throat burns as he breaths it in. Nothing matters, not with Steve’s eyes locked on to him, looking at him like every good thing in the world exists in Tony’s face. The focus is off, Steve only just started shaking for warmth, but somehow Tony feels pierced through. 

With painstaking effort Steve lifts his still frozen hand, rests it on the side of Tony’s neck and the armor feels like a cruel barrier. Tony sobs.

“You think you’re a regular renegade hero, but look at you; world’s falling to shit, and the dumbass you haven’t spoken to in months is fishing you out of the snow by your ankles,” Steve smiles at him and lets his eyes close. Tony shakes him, but they don’t open. “Stay with me, Rogers. Look alive.” He begs shutting the face plate again to check his vitals. They are better now, good enough for Tony to scoop him up bridal style. When he looks down before taking off, Steve is smiling, small and soft and perfect. 

“Fool.”

* * *

_October 22nd, 2012_  
“Stark.” A voice calls out just as the heavy base cuts off mid verse. Tony starts at the interruption, but swivels away from his holoscreen to see Steve Rogers standing in the doorway. For all his large frame fills the empty space, he looks small and uncertain standing with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Tony takes a second to admire how ridiculously well the man pulls of plaid and khakis before standing with a stretch. He feels uncomfortably pleased when Steve’s eyes follow the movement.

“Captain. To what do I owe this pleasure?” Tony finally asks, walking forward and gesturing for Steve to come in. 

Steve impossibly looks more awkward and Tony internally smacks himself for the choice of words. The empty bed a few mornings ago made it clear how Steve felt about their impromptu bumping of uglies. 

It is a shame though, because it may have been one of the most fulfilling sexual encounters of Tony’s life. An argument about his flipency when dealing with an overzealous reporter had lead to Steve following him into the penthouse. Tony tried to break the tension, suggested they let their anger out with a round of mario kart and Steve went along with it for a bit. Then something had shifted, their bickering went playful, then flirtatious and then Steve was tackling him into the couch for a perfectly timed blue shell. 

They rolled off, tussled with each other between laughing and Tony thought maybe things were finally going to be good between them, maybe a little outlet was all they needed. But suddenly Steve was over him, straddling his hips and pinning his wrists to the ground and Tony’s breath choked. Everything had stilled, suspended for a second before Steve shifted and brushed his ass down over Tony’s stunningly hard erection. 

Tony half expected Steve to backflip off him and out the door, but instead something in Steve’s eyes darkened and he press down on Tony’s wrists. Before Tony could even finish the moan that rushed out of him Steve’s lips had been on his, harsh and demanding and Tony could do nothing more than return the favor. 

When Tony woke up the next morning, ass sore in the most delicious way possible he tried not to be disappointed by the lack of a warm body next to him. When he saw nothing but the faintest glimpses of Steve for the following four days he let himself pout a bit and locked himself in the workshop to get over the self hatred for apparently making their tenuous friendship even worse. 

“I…” Steve answers then clears his throat and straightens his shoulders like this is somehow a battle he needs to brace for. “I thought I’d see how you were.”

“Fine,” Tony replies, confusion leaking into every inch of the word. Honestly, if Steve had wanted to know how he held up after being rammed into, not only his couch and coffee table, but also the bed, the question really was coming in absurdly late. He looks Steve over with a raised eyebrow, feeling himself smirk at the awkward shuffling of the super soldiers feet. “Alright, Cap. How about a drink?” 

“You always want a drink,” Steve mutters but follows Tony as he starts towards the exit. “Stark-”

“Come on up for a game, then,” Tony cuts off, deciding they may as well cut to the chase of it all. Steve apparently couldn’t figure out a graceful way to ask for a friends with benefits sort of arrangement between them and Tony can be the gracious host and fill in the blanks for him. “If you think I cheat at video games, you can try me at chess.”

Steve starts, eyes flickering over Tony’s entire face like he can’t help but doubt the intention in Tony’s words. He deflates a little and rubs at the back of his neck. “I haven’t been a very good friend lately.” 

Tony laughs outright at that, because honestly for someone who clearly knew his way around the male anatomy, Steve could be remarkably precious. “You do know who you’re talking to, don’t you, Cap?” 

Steve smirks a little at that and something heated flares into view on his face. Tony can’t seem to look away from those eyes, not that he wants to at all, so he walks the rest of the way to the door and following elevator backwards. 

“You coming?” Tony asks as he reaches to his right and hits the button to open the doors, canting his hip to the side and widening his stance in invitation. With smoldering eyes, Steve stalks forward seemingly just as caught up in this sudden heat between them. Tony makes it into the elevator fully before Steve is upon him, pressing him up against the wall with all his weight. 

Tony can’t do anything but fling his arms up and around Steve’s neck and open up his mouth as Steve presses in. His lips feel like fire, his tongue wet and warm where it presses in along Tony’s. A moan vibrates between them, caught in the space where their chests press heavily into each other, and Tony honestly has no clue if the sourse is himself, Steve or some delicious combination of them both. Running his hands up Tony’s thighs, Steve presses him further into the metal wall, rubs his solid erection into the flat of Tony’s lower stomach. 

It feels too impossibly good, so heady and frantic, and Tony feels himself go lax, feels himself give into the strength of Steve’s grasp. The rumbling growl Steve lets out when he feels Tony give beneath him sends shuddering waves of pleasure straight down from their lips to the tip of Tony’s cock. Breaking for air becomes a necessity and Tony pulls back with the absolute most lewd sounding pop. 

“I did really think we were going to play a few games first,” He can’t help but tease, trying to salvage some dignity in the face of his panting breaths and the string of saliva looping between their open mouths. Steve just smirks and shifts to squeeze hard at Tony’s ass before suddenly scooping him up and against his chest. Reflexively Tony wraps his legs around Steve’s waist and gasps when the movement presses the hard lines of Steve’s abs against his leaking dick.

“Jesus.” Tony breathes out reverently and Steve’s smirk grows more wicked when the doors open to let them into the penthouse living room. They don’t say much else. They also manage both rounds in the bed this time and Tony feels like the sheets really need to be burned before he sleeps in them. 

Steve is panting next to him, but his hand is wound in with Tony’s and the solid weight of it is so calming Tony could melt into the bed. He wants to stay like this for hours, wants to keep Steve’s hand in his even after they get dressed, wants to asks Steve to stay until morning this time. 

“You can leave before I fall asleep, you know?” He says instead. Steve stills, then lets go of his hand and Tony wants to staple his mouth closed for that. When he turns to look at Steve though, he is smiling, a little hesitant but still kind and happy. 

“I thought we were gonna play some chess?” He asks and Tony simply has to roll over and bury his grin in Steve’s chest. 

“Alright,” Tony says on a laugh, but they stay laying like that for a long while.

* * *

_November 3rd, 2016_

“Stop fighting,” Tony snaps, as he lowers Steve onto the surprisingly sturdy old wire frame bed someone left in here. The building is sealed off from the storm outside and a wood burning stove is positioned in the far corner with a stack of dry firewood next to it. Clearly, this place has been used recently, but the storm will buy them some security from the official owners. 

Steve is in and out of consciousness at this point, but the heavy wool blankets folded on the foot of the bed promise to speed up the warming process. He pulls them out and over Steve’s violently shivering form and the man manages a week and hazy smile. 

“I have to send an alert back to Natasha” Tony tells him, smoothing down the wrinkles of the blanket in some facsimile of touching Steve. Another shaky smile let’s him know he can probably step away, but he can’t help but add, “I’ll be back.”

“Thank you,” Steve chokes out just as Tony turns away and it draws him up short. He turns back, knows his face looks gutted and wishes he kept the face plate down when they came inside. The pained look on Steve’s face should feel like some kind of justice, but instead it just cuts deep into Tony’s gut. Everything in him still yearns for Steve’s easy smiles, his gentle caresses and resolute care. “Thank you, for looking for me.”

There is nothing to say to that, nothing that won’t sound pathetic and needy, so Tony turns away and leaves the room. He shuts down the face plate and connects to the nearest satellite. It takes a few moments, but Natasha picks up, her face flickering into view. She doesn’t say anything, just looks over his face and sags in sudden relief. 

“He’s alive.” He confirms, voice wavering before he coughs and lets out a long breath. “Looks like shit and the storms picked up enough that I can’t fly him out of here like this. It’ll be a day or two before you can pilot in here either.”

“You think you can handle it?” She asks after nodding at the information. Her eyes are kind and understanding, she was the one to call him in after all. 

“I went looking didn’t I?” He snaps back, but deflates when her face shifts into something sad. She cares deeply for both of them, he knows that most of the time, but he feels it like a punch to the gut right now. 

“Never thought you wouldn’t.” She says back softly, not judgemental. If anything she sounds proud of him. He nods and signs off, trusting her to relay the message to all relevant parties. It takes him sometime to step out of the suit and even longer to gather the courage to go back to Steve.

He still lays in the bed, covered over by piles of wool, but his uniform is laying wet and discarded on the floor. Tony hates himself for feeling disappointed for missing the disrobing. The air feels charged in someway as Tony trails his eyes up the outline of Steve’s form. He feels off-kilter, feels simultaneously too small and too large for this place. Everything up to this point ran lightening quick, all of it overridden by the soul crushing need to find Steve, to get him back alive. 

“Stark,” Steve suddenly says and Tony snaps up with that terrible tether he tied between himself and Steve all those years ago. For months he tried to sever it, but it seems the line is just as strong as always. Not for the first time Tony wonders if Steve was sent here to punish him for all the wrongs of his life and lives past. Steve keeps looking at him, the silent thoughtful expression so terribly familiar Tony wants to go back to his suit and fly away. He could do it, Steve is alive and at least somewhat safe here. Somehow though, it feels like the wrong decision. Finally, Steve speaks and Tony knows him well enough to know it won’t be what he was thinking. “Could you put a few logs in?”

Tony just nods, not even disappointed anymore. Too hallow, too wrung dry. He just wants to crawl into that bed with Steve and never wake up. 

“What happened?” Tony asks once the fire is stoked and filling the room with a pleasant warmth. Steve is still shivering, but the violence of the movements has subsided enough to calm Tony’s nerves. For a long moment the silence stretches and Tony wonders if Steve will ever tell him anything again. 

“Found the serum,” Steve starts, coughing when his voice catches in his dry and wind bruised throat. Tony turns to the sink a few feet from the stove and tests the fauset. After a small lag the water trickles out and he pulls open the cabinet above it and pulls out one of the four mugs nestled there. He fills it and carries it over to Steve without a word. Their fingers brush in the exchange and Tony wants nothing more than to latch onto those too cold fingers. He forces himself still and sits on the foot of the bed. 

Steve takes a long swallow and coughs again before setting the mug down on the little wooden bedside table. He does not turn to look at Tony, but continues speaking. “There was a guard that caught sight and got the alert up before I could get ‘em. I managed to get about ten before I went down over the cliff. Lost my bike somewhere down there. When I woke up I was alone, no water, half the suit torn and I was freezing.” He pauses, looking down at his bare hands like somehow they will take over the story telling for him.“I could barely move.”

A choking noise crawls its way out of Tony’s throat and he presses a hand to his mouth to hold it in. They sit like that, Tony at Steve’s feet and Steve turned away from him all the same. The air feels alive, some creeping thing that presses in all around them. 

“Guess I’m making you a new suit, then, Cap.” Tony finally says when he can’t stand it anymore and resolutely turns to look at Steve’s face. He keeps his frown hard, demanding Steve to say something, anything to that. Steve’s eyes widen even as he continues to stare at the far wall. His whole body looks coiled, ready to run back into the storm and Tony nearly dares him to do it. 

Then the world shifts and Steve turns to him. Their eyes meet and Tony feels his entire being shudder. There are tears pooling in Steve’s eyes, the blue so bright and sharp it nearly knocks Tony clear off the bed. It feels like they are finally seeing each other for the first time and suddenly nothing about this is enough. Tony lurches forward, Steve opens his arms and they collapse into and around each other. 

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Tony half sobs into Steve’s bare chest, hating himself and loving this man so much he could crawl out of his own skin if it meant he could be closer, just a little bit closer. Steve’s arms tighten, his breath shakes and shudders out of him and he presses his face into the top of Tony’s head. They fit so smoothly, latching together, designed precisely to live like this. 

“How long was I out there?” His voice is soft and raspy, pressed firmly into the top of Tony’s head. For a moment Tony lets the question lay there, just burrows his face deeper into Steve, breathes and shudders with the relief of how warm he feels now. 

“You’ve been MIA for three days.” Tony admits once he feels in control enough to speak. “Dunno how long you were lying out there like last weeks garbage.” He tries to chuckle but the thing dies before it makes it into any recognisable noise and Steve pulls him in tighter. It feels like he will fly apart if Steve ever lets go, feels like he will disintegrate into dust right here if Steve stops breathing into his hair. 

They stay like that, wrapped around each other, desperately trying not to sob and Tony finally understands. He finally understands why that fluttering would never die, why the tether would never break. Everytime, Steve was there on the other end, longing just as deeply for all his silence. Tony feels a fresh wave bubble up in him and Steve shushes him, loosening his hold only to rub his hand up and down Tony’s back. It’s such a simple gesture, but Tony feels so cherished, so protected, so loved.

They don’t say anything, they never say anything, but somehow it feels right now. There are no words, there are too many words and none of them will ever be enough. It’s all right here, in the firm heartbeat against Tony’s forehead. 

“Sounds like a blizzard.” Steve whispers into his hair some thousand years later and Tony feels languid as he pulls back to meet his eyes. They are red rimmed and the most beautiful thing in Tony’s entire life. It feels right that his arc reactor was blue, feels right that something like Steve’s eyes would have been the magnet keeping his heart safe. 

“Yeah.” Tony whispears back, trailing his hand down from Steve’s neck and over his chest, to his sternum. He feels so warm now, so solid and real. Steve’s stomach rumbles when Tony presses his hand against it and something giddy bursts to life in his chest. He laughs full and bright. Steve watches him like he never wants to look at anything else. “Want me to make us something?”

“You think you could cook?” Steve teases, smile spreading over his face slowly. It makes the room feel warmer than the stove ever could. It is the most natural thing in the world to tip forward, to press their lips together. The sigh Steve lets out fans all over Tony’s face and he breathes it in greedily, desperate for Steve’s air to fill his lungs. It lasts and last for all that it is chaste, like they are both reluctant to break the connection. 

“You can tell me what to do.” Tony whispers against that perfectly bowed top lip and feels the tiny shudder the words inspire in Steve. It feels like home.

They find a few hard vegetables and some dried packets of broth along with a pot large enough to prepare a stew. Steve talks him through every part of it, from the way to chop the onion to how long the potatoes will need to cook; his voice a calm and steady rhythm as Tony works. While the pot simmers Tony cuts some hard meats and cheeses he found and layers them up on a plate. Sometimes between browning the onion and peeling the carrots, Steve stretched himself out on the bed and his eyes are closed when Tony turns around to bring his offering. 

“Hey,” He whispers when he stands close enough to brush the fringe of Steve’s hair off his forehead. It’s gotten long, but something about it and the new beard suit him. Tony decides not to say anything about it.“Can you eat a bit of this for me?”

Steve blinks his eyes open, a soft smile warming his face. “Sure, Tony,” He says and pulls himself up to sitting again. Tony grabs a piece of salami and some bright yellow cheddar then holds them to Steve’s lips. He opens his mouth and takes the food in, lets his tongue brush along the pads of Tony’s fingers. “Thank you.” 

“Just eat,” Tony tells him and gathers another pair of meat and cheese. Steve gazes at Tony, but makes no move to feed himself and something about this is so poignant and yet so peaceful. When Steve is busy chewing, Tony will grab a few bites for himself. Otherwise he is dedicated wholly to Steve, interrupting occasionally to bring the mug up instead, speaking softly, “drink some water.” 

“Alright, Tony,” Steve mutters sometimes, but mostly he is silent. They finish the plate and Tony stands. He can feel Steve’s eyes on him as he places the plate in the sink, as he stirs the pot and fills another mug with the tap water. Even so, it feels like a shock when he turns around to see Steve sitting just as he left him, gaze soft and focus fully on him. 

“You drive me mad, you know that?” He can’t help but say. It’s the most honest thing he’s ever said.

“Sorry.” Steve replies, but his smile betrays any true sentiment. Tony sit beside him again, leans his head on Steve’s shoulder and breathes deeply in the air around them. After a time he feels Steve’s hand run through his hair and hums at the sensation. The hand travels down, over Tony’s ear and down his neck into the hollow between throat and shoulder. A finger traces the tendon back up and then travels down over his adam’s apple and into the dip of his collarbone. Tony allows it all, closes his eyes and settles further against Steve’s side. Latched together. 

“Think the stew is ready?” Steve asks after finishing his soft exploration of Tony’s neck and shoulders. Tony hums and stands up, moving to the stove and giving it another stir. 

“Depends on your view,” He admits after scooping up a potato and tasting it. The starch has gone soft and the flavor of the broth seems to have soaked into it.

“It’ll be fine.” Steve tells him and Tony moves to gather two of the bowls from the tiny cabinet above the sink. He serves them both and brings them the bowls along with two tarnished spoons. He lets Steve feed himself this time, but sits close enough to brush their arms together with every bite. 

“Not bad,” Steve tells him after a few tastes and Tony laughs.

“Can’t help that you don’t have taste buds after all that army food.” He turns to look at Steve and it feels so easy like this. There is still anger there, still a kind of hurt that can’t help but scar, but they’ll have time to talk about it later. They’ll have time to fight about it later. Figuring it out can be left until the storm breaks.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks when Tony turns on the water and begins rinsing their bowls. 

Tony looks back at him and shrugs. “Just cleaning up.”

“Come to bed, Tony.” Steve tells him in the same gentle tone he used to direct Tony through preparing dinner, After everything his name shouldn’t make his eyes sting so badly.

“I’m Tony, now, huh?” He says, but it sounds more like plea than any kind of question. 

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Steve reassures and Tony walks the rest of the way to the bed. He does not look away as he pulls his shirt off, nor when he lets his jeans fall to the floor. There is a hunger there in Steve’s eyes, but it is shadowed over by a gentle adoration that feels more intimate than anything they’ve ever done together. 

Steve shuffles back and lifts the edge of the three wool blankets up enough for Tony to slide in under them. The bed is larger than a normal twin, but Steve is huge and leaves little space for Tony to fill. After a moment of shuffling, the end up pressed chest to chest, face to face with Steve’s arms wrapped around Tony and Tony’s pressed up into the cavern between their bodies. 

Long moments pass with them just looking at each other, speaking in some old language of soft breathes and gentle brushes of fingers on skin. “Thank you, Tony.” Steve speaks nearly directly into Tony’s mouth. His voice is heavy but soft and it settles deep into Tony’s bones. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t come if you needed me too?” He asks, just as gentle, just as solid. He lets one hand slide up over Steve’s throat and onto his cheek, traces a finger over the bone and down the line of his nose. “Steve.” 

They kiss again, gentle and languid. Tony traces the seam of Steve’s lips with his tongue and gently sucks on Steve’s when he returns the favor. They both taste of beef broth and potatoes, but their breaths are warm and sure. It lasts for decades. 

“Storm’ll probably last a few days,” Steve tells him when they break apart.

“Maybe,” Tony admits and runs a hand through Steve’s hair, before dropping it to his neck and holding on a little too tight. “Wouldn’t mind spending the time here.” 

“No better place to be in a blizzard,” Steve agrees and his arms press Tony flush against him. They are both hard, but it seems distant and unimportant. 

“Can’t lose you in here,” Tony’s hand tightens and pulls Steve down to temper the declaration with gentle lips and soft swipes of his tongue. 

“Sleep,” Steve finally tells him, when they are more breathing each other’s air then kissing.

* * *

_Anytime, 2014 – Onwards_

Tony stretches into wakefulness, grinning at the feel of a heavy arm pressing his chest down into the mattress. He can feel the steady breath blowing faintly into his neck. Morning is just starting to threaten at the corners of the window and Tony feels pleasantly rested and warm. He starts to shift out of bed, deciding he needs a nice cup of coffee to watch the sunrise.

“Mm.” Steve mumbles and tightens his hold on Tony’s middle. Tony laughs and tries to squirm away. “Going somewhere?”

“I was thinking about getting a cup of coffee.” Tony tells him and manages to squirm around to face Steve. He giggles at the grumpy little pout on Steve’s face. 

“Stay,” Steve demands and tightens his hold on Tony. Tony lets out a hum and rolls over to face Steve, all mischief and happiness. 

“Gonna convince me?” He teases and presses himself fuller into Steve’s side, letting his hardening cock brush up the side of the larger man’s hip. He nibbles the side of Steve’s jaw, draws his lips up and over his cheekbone before sliding back down to suck on his earlobe. “Steve.”

“Stay,” Steve growls in response, shifting to crawl over Tony and press him down into the bed. His eyes are bright and alert when he reaches for Tony’s dick, earning a soft gasp and grown. He leans down more, settles his weight over Tony in a delicious slide of skin and nips his own path up to Tony’s ear. “Tony.”

“All right.”A choked off gasp and the sound of a tube opening. A delighted laugh and Tony sighs deep and content. “All right. I’ll stay.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [unsaid](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17467448) by [msermesth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msermesth/pseuds/msermesth)




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